“Can I at least have a towel?”
“No. But I’ll take those.” I feel her reach out and yank the truffle box from under my arm.
Right before she kicks me in the shin again.
I stumble back, stunned and dazed from the pie to the face and my phone blaring.
The door slams.
The lock clicks.
Someone passing by in the hall smothers a surprised laugh.
This is not my fucking day.
I wipe my pie-covered hands on my trousers—this suit’s ruined anyhow—and answer the phone.
“Heron,” I growl.
“Mr. Heron, this is Nurse Becky from Northwestern Memorial. Miss Quail is awake and asking for her son.”
Fuck.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse.
“Again? What did you tell her this time? I’m on my way.”
“I told her I’d call you and see if you could bring him in.”
“My father left the country with the kid,” I grind out, hating everything. “I’m working on it. Is Marissa more conscious than the last few times?”
“I’m afraid so.” She takes a long, audible inhale. “You may need to request a social worker sit in on the visit. This kind of information could be too much for her to handle right now.”
So not only did I let Baxter Heron run off with Jordan, now I might just kill his mom?
This whole sick scenario is my fault.
I shouldn’t have given Baxter Heron the option of leaving almost a decade ago.
I wish I’d spared him nothing, outed him and burned everything he owned down to the ground. He wouldn’t have Marissa’s son hostage in the Virgin damn Islands.
“Does she really need to know right now?” I fire back into the phone.
“Well...the nurse in me wants to tell you no. But the mom in me is ready to slap you for trying to weasel out of telling that woman you let someone take her kid while she was in a coma. How could you?” She sighs. “Besides, she’s asking about him.”
“Uh—in fairness, I tried to stop him. I’m not his legal guardian, and your lovely security stopped me from getting physical with the flying monkey who carried him off.”
“Well. Talk to the doctor and see if he thinks she can handle it,” the nurse says.
It’s a statement. She doesn’t leave room for argument.
“I’m coming now,” I grumble.
I stagger down the building’s stairs knowing two things.
One, I have to get Sabrina Bristol out of my system, for both our sakes. I owe her space to move on, and I should be entirely focused on my company and getting Jordan home.
And more importantly, I have no fucking clue how I’m going to get through this next thing I have to do. Not without Brina’s kind heart there to help.
Marissa Quail blinks several times when I come into the room. The last time she manages to hold her eyes open.
I don’t know what to say, or even if she knows who I am.
“Hi, Marissa,” I try. “It’s Magnus.”
“Hi.” Her voice is low and dazed. She sounds drugged.
I’m sure she is.
“How are you?” I ask, a stupid question.
She’s still got tubes and wires attached to her body. That alone doesn’t scream well.
She sighs and moans simultaneously. “It hurts. Everything just...hurts.”
“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.” Thoughts whip through my brain as I try to think how to help her. “Should I call a nurse? Maybe you could get more painkillers?”
“They told me...I can’t have more. Not yet.” She stares straight ahead. “Thank you for coming.”
I sit down in the chair near her bed, nodding.
“Has anyone talked to you?” I pause, hoping she’ll jump in so I don’t have to say more. “About Jordan?”
“The social worker came. She told me he’s with Baxter and you...you have more information?”
I’m so gutted I can barely speak.
“Baxter found out you were in the hospital. I don’t know how. I haven’t spoken to him in years, not since the day he threatened you, until he showed up here.” Guilt gnaws at me, and I look away, gathering the courage to face her again. “He told Jordan he always wanted to be in his life—the bastard liar—but you wouldn’t let him. It’s my fault—”
“Y-your fault? How is it your...” she trails off, uncomprehending.
Oh, boy.
I close my eyes and squeeze the back of my neck with my hand until it hurts.
“The night you came to the hospital, they called me to pick up Jordan. He was freaked out about leaving, he didn’t know me. I told him I’m his brother to calm him down the next morning. And when he asked where our dad was, I just...I told him he was dead. Never in a million years did I expect Baxter to show up in person. I thought Jordan was better off not knowing.”
“But I’m confused. What does that have to do with Jordan leaving?” She blinks and shifts in her bed. “He should know better.”
“He said you wouldn’t tell him anything and I lied to him. He was confused. He thought Baxter was the only person being honest.”
The reality eviscerates me yet again as I narrate. How the fuck did I let this happen?
She doesn’t speak for a long time. I can’t tell if she’s mad, but she should be.
“Where are they now?” she asks softly.
“Jordan will be back soon.” I rub my throat, my voice so raw. “I have a whole surveillance team watching him, and the best law firm in the country working on getting him back. Your son will be home soon, even if I have to go in with guns blazing. I promise.”
Her eyes narrow. She can tell I’m stalling. “Magnus, where are they?”
“Saint Thomas,” I say.
“Come again?”
“Saint Thomas. Charlotte Amalie, to be specific.” I sigh. “It’s in the US Virgin Islands. But I’m working on getting him home. I know this was my fault—”
“Oh, my God. Is he safe? Baxter isn’t the fatherly type, Magnus. You know that.”
Fuck, yes, I do.
“The private investigator tells me he seems healthy and in no clear danger, but I’m working like a dog to get him home. And now that you’re awake, it’ll be easier. The only reason I haven’t already brought him back is because I’m not his guardian.”
“Tell your attorney I have full custody. Baxter has no rights. At all. I don’t care what happened...”
My mouth drops. “My dad wanted custody?”
He never wanted to say two words to me.
She sighs. “He threatened it at first, when he knew I was pregnant. He wasn’t really interested in Jordan. It was just one more tool to bludgeon me.”
That animal. My hand flexes into a fist.
“He’s controlling. Horrible. I was determined that he wouldn’t use Jordan to control me...that he wouldn’t turn my beautiful son into the kind of monster he is. So I went to the police right after Jordan was born, claimed he was abusive, and filed for emergency custody. By the time his lawyer tracked him down to let him know, they’d already missed a court date. I got lucky. The judge was a woman raised by a single mom. She granted me custody and gave him zero visitation rights. He didn’t contest it, because he didn’t want anyone knowing.”